


can i just be (in my head with you?)

by cybergore



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Girls Kissing, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, VERY SOFT the tags make it sound bad but it is FLUFF, also pretend david/genya never happened, but i tagged her bc she is my wife, pretend mal/alina never happened, very very soft genyalina, we needed some more lesbianisms so, zoya is only there for 2 sentences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21912082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cybergore/pseuds/cybergore
Summary: “I hate that he hurt you,” Alina adds, stepping back towards Genya. “And I will always resent that. But believe me when I tell you this, Genya. The scars do not make you any less beautiful.”-The night before the battle on the Fold, Alina spends the night with someone who is most definitely not Mal Oretsev.
Relationships: Genya Safin/Alina Starkov
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	can i just be (in my head with you?)

**Author's Note:**

> hi i felt the need to write some soft genya/alina bc they were my bi awakening! per usual, i’m not betaed so apologies for any mistakes :).
> 
> trigger warnings: references to genya’s torture, her scars, her rape (fuck king alexander!), and some mild/implied sexy content at the very end.
> 
> finally: this takes place the night before the battle on the fold, where in canon, mal & alina sleep together. obviously, that does not happen! it’s also important that y’all pretend like mal/alina and genya/david never happened, for the sake of the lesbianisms.

Genya Safin is well aware of the fact that she is attractive.

Most of it was her doing, after all. Over the years, as she developed her Tailor skills, Genya had subtly tweaked her looks to better suit what she (and most of the world) defined as good-looking.

It was worth noting that Genya hadn’t done that, any of that, for anyone but herself.

She had loved the little, satisfying thrill of seeing her own reflection in the mirror and loving what she saw.

Anyway. That was  _ at first. _

Then men came into the picture, tall and broad-shouldered, with large, calloused hands that touched Genya even when she said ‘no.’ Even when she said it over and over.

But Genya never changed her appearance, other than to make it  _ more _ beautiful,  _ more _ striking,  _ more _ stunning. Because she wanted to. And what she wants matters more than the desires of filthy men who can’t understand what consent is.

But that is another story.

In short, Genya knows that she is good-looking. Even through the Darkling’s torture, most things that make her gorgeous remained the same—the color of her iris is still golden honey, though now she’s down to one rather than two. Graceful cheekbones jut out and highlight her elegantly angular bone structure, despite now being laced with the raised curlicues of scar tissue. Genya’s nose is still attractively sloped and upturned.

All in all, Genya is still beautiful. She  _ knows _ that. But it’s so hard to remember sometimes, when the perfection is gone, and because of the fact that for as long as she remembers, Genya defined ‘beauty’ as synonymous with ‘perfection’.

That changed, yes, and it started changing when a certain scrawny, scrappy Etherealnik entered Genya’s life. But old habits die hard, and there are still too many times to count when Genya catches a glimpse of her reflection in a looking glass and feels unfathomable  _ disgust _ curl in her gut, cold and sickly and impossible to quench.

Despite how insurmountable it feels, how all-consuming, though, Genya is working on it. She’s  _ trying _ to work on it. She feels inspired to work on it, at the very least, when a certain pair of dark eyes find hers in a crowd, and crease at the edges with a smile. When her flame-colored hair is splayed out on a pillow, and a grounding weight appears beside her, adding icy white to the collage.

-

“Genya.” The girl in question looks up, breaking from her melancholy,  _ kvas _ -induced reverie. The fire in the hearth burns low, and a few paces away, Zoya, David, Harshaw, and Mal are drinking around it. In front of Genya is none other than Ravka’s esteemed Sun Summoner, bright-eyed, bright-souled Alina Starkov. And she’s offering up a pale hand.

Without hesitation, Genya takes it, and lightly pulls Alina so that she’s sitting down next to her on a cushion.

“How are you?” Alina asks, her soft voice washing over Genya like a warm tide. Genya welcomes it, hoping Alina’s lapping waves will smooth her surface over.

“How well can one be in circumstances like these? We’re preparing for battle, after all,” Genya says, voice wry. She’s always been something of a realist, and the heat of war has been helpful in bringing that out.

Alina appears unfazed by Genya’s bracing honesty, and smiles a soft smile that makes Genya feel like the breath is being knocked out of her. “True enough.” She nods. “But I wish we were  _ both _ doing better than that. It would be nice to have a rush of lasting pre-battle adrenaline and spirit, wouldn’t it?”

“Wouldn’t it,” Genya echoes, knowing Alina will interpret her reply correctly. She always does, after all.

All these years, and Alina is the one person who can read Genya flawlessly, despite only knowing her for a couple of months.

Alina reaches over and plucks the bottle of  _ kvas _ from Genya’s pliant fingers, but instead of drinking from it, Alina sets it down on the floor. Like Genya knew she would. It occurs to Genya, absently, that perhaps she knows Alina just as well as Alina knows her.

Before Genya can say anything, though, a chorus of raucous laughter erupts from the fireside group. She spots Zoya in a rare moment of mortality, laughing with her head thrown back, ink-black curls cascading over her spotless  _ kefta. _

When her gaze flicks back to Alina, the white-haired girl offers her an upwards-quirked mouth and a suggestion: “Want to go somewhere quieter?”

For some reason, this innocent suggestion sets off a burst of flames in Genya’s stomach, which she chooses to ignore. Opting instead for a nod, Genya stands and follows Alina as she leads her to another room, away from everyone else.

Genya’s mind sort of gets stuck on the ‘away from everyone else’ part, which feels both worrying and excellent.

They reach a lavishly decorated room, walls covered in some sort of blue, silky material that Genya’s hand slips down when she braces against it. Pillows and cushions are strewn about elegantly on the carpeted floor, and dying flowers reside in vases that are tucked into every nook and cranny.

The whole space is beautiful, but Genya finds that the only time her breath catches is when her eyes land on Alina, standing in the middle of the room, expression astounded as she studies her surroundings.

_ Stop it, _ Genya’s mind screams at her.  _ Just stop before you get broken beyond repair. _

But Genya finds that while she gives gratuitous amounts of good advice, she seldom has the patience or presence of mind to follow it.

Against her better judgement, the redhead finds her fingers lifting upwards towards Alina’s face, and reaching out to touch pale, flawless skin. She stops a breath shy of actually touching her, and Alina’s dark eyes flick to look at her.

It is completely and utterly silent in the room, despite the boisterous environment they had just been in.

“Can I?” Genya asks, voice soft and broken, because she needs to hear it, needs to know that Alina is alright with her doing this, before she ruins the best thing she’s ever had in her entire life.

“Yes,” Alina replies. She sounds like everything good and holy in the world. She sounds like a Saint.

Fitting.

Genya’s fingers flit forward and settle on Alina’s face, and honestly, it’s a miracle that she is not completely trembling. It feels like Genya is holding something fragile, something breakable. Alina’s skin is cool and smooth beneath the pads of her fingers, and it feels like Genya is touching a precious figurine.

Of course, she knows that’s not true. She knows that Alina Starkov is strong, utterly unbreakable. But it’s interesting, and slightly surreal, to feel like the pale-haired, dark-eyed girl in front of her is made of glass.

Alina’s obsidian gaze finds Genya’s. In a moment of incoherent observation, Genya is extremely aware of the fact that the pair of them are standing so close that Genya can feel Alina’s cool breath on her face.

“I want to touch you,” Alina says, voice quiet and calm and setting off more flames in Genya’s stomach than any Inferni could. “But I want you to want me to. I don’t want to be like the people who touched you before.”

“I want you to,” Genya replies, letting the words out in a breathy, eager rush. She tries her best to ignore the thrum of affection that bursts in her gut at the idea that Alina is thinking of her, thinking of what it means for Genya to be this close to someone again.

That, apparently, is all that Alina needs to hear. She leans forward about an inch, which is all it takes for her to bridge the gap. Her lips meet Genya’s, ensuing a sudden soft sigh from the redhead. Genya’s amber eye falls shut, and she melts into the surreal feeling of her mouth against Alina’s.

When Alina brings a tentative hand up to Genya’s face, though, the latter tenses up immediately. In the blink of an eye, Alina is pulling back, brow creased with worry. “Are you alright? Did I do something—”

“No,” Genya interrupts, closing her good eye right and shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I just—my  _ scars.” _

Alina’s concerned expression immediately falls away to one of anger. “I hate him. I hate that he did that to you,” she whispers in a low voice thick with fury and sadness. Her gaze falls to the ground, but barely a moment later, her eyes dart back up to Genya’s face.

“I hate that he hurt you,” Alina adds, stepping back towards Genya. “And I will always resent that. But believe me when I tell you this, Genya. The scars do not make you any less beautiful.”

Genya swallows, the backs of her eye suddenly stinging. The earnestness in Alina’s voice is making her feel too hot and too vulnerable, and the moisture building in her eye is making that infinitely worse.

“I know that,” Genya breathes out, finally. “I know. It’s hard to remember, though, sometimes.”

Alina extends a hand again, and Genya reaches out to catch it. Their fingers thread together, and Genya cannot help but think about how perfectly their hands link together. How well they fit. She remembers how much meeting Alina for the first time felt like waking up after a particularly long nightmare. She remembers how Alina’s previous hatred for her felt like falling back asleep.

“You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen,” Alina says, voice quiet and silk-soft, her words only for Genya. Genya feels a tiny thrill at that; not just Alina’s praise, but the fact that no one else is here to hear what she’s saying.

Genya leans her forehead against Alina’s, and she feels like maybe she is close enough to Alina for their eyelashes to touch. Up close, she can see just how dark Alina’s eyes are, and though it’s difficult to make out, just how large her pupils are.

“I remember, when I first saw you, stopping in my tracks and thinking that I had never seen someone make my breath stop like that,” Alina continues, and her words are surely making Genya’s cheeks heat up to impossible shades of red.

“And that never changed,” Alina whispers, her cool breath on Genya’s lips raising the hair on the latter’s neck. “Not after the torture. Certainly not since then.”

Genya lets her eye fall shut and pushes forward ever so slightly, letting her mouth meet with Alina’s, who’s lips part willingly.

Due to the girls’ extremely similar heights (Genya os perhaps a half inch taller than Alina), it is not difficult for them to maneuver into a comfortable position. Alina tilts her head, and Genya keeps her perfect posture. And the pair of them hold each other’s heads up, with Alina’s left hand on Genya’s face, and Genya’s right on Alina’s, and their hands joined in between their bodies.

For a minute or so, all Genya feels is  _ Alina _ sweeping over her, pulling her downstream like the undertow.

When they finally break apart, Genya is breathless and practically floating, but she does manage to gasp out a semi-coherent sentence. “Why,” she mumbles against Alina’s lips, “Did it take this long?”

Alina pulls back enough to give Genya a wry, resigned smile. “Impending death does boost one’s confidence, it seems.”

Genya shuts her eye tight, as if to ward off Alina’s nihilism. “I don’t want to think about that,” she whispers, using their interlocked hands to pull Alina back. “I want to stay here with you forever.”

Alina laughed lightly, her voice rough. “Curse saints and sinners,” she mumbles. “Ravka never gave me anything but a sad childhood.”

“I don’t need patriotism,” Genya agrees, letting their foreheads touch once more. She’s exhausted, and the  _ kvas _ is, perhaps, starting to kick in just a bit. “I don’t need sainthood.” The  _ I only need you _ is left unspoken, but the look in Alina’s eyes assures Genya that it was communicated nonverbally.

“And to think that I was convinced you were head over heels for David,” Alina says, another smile emerging.

“I was unspeakably jealous when you confessed to liking the Darkling,” Genya admits, feeling her face heat again at the concession. It’s embarrassing to admit that she was so angry about Alina trading kisses with such a dramatic, malevolent tyrant.

Alina laughs a bit at that, but it’s swallowed up by Genya’s mouth catching her own again. They melt into it, despite their mutual tiredness, and Genya pulls Alina back towards the largest pile of cushions in the corner of the room.

Genya sinks down, breaking their kiss, and pulls at Alina’s hand ever so slightly, showing her what she’s hinting at in what she hopes are no uncertain terms. The blush rising in Alina’s cheeks shows that Genya succeeded, and Alina follows Genya down, settling gently in her lap.

Genya reaches up and places her arms around Alina’s neck, pulling her in for another kiss, which Alina readily melts into. She holds Genya’s face in both her hands and gives her warmth over. Even when Alina isn’t summoning, it seems that every inch of her oozes sunlight.

Alina’s white hair spills over her shoulders, but that makes it no more difficult for Genya to find the buttons that keep her blouse closed. Pulling back, she asks, “Is it alright if I…?”

“Yes,” Alina repeats, smiling lightly once more. Genya’s fingers fumble slightly, but she manages, and soon enough, she’s lying horizontally.

Suffice it to say that that night does not leave Genya at all unsure of Alina’s affections for her. And it serves as a welcome reminder that one breathtaking white-haired girl will always think Genya beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> as usual, thank you so much for reading and/or commenting! you can find me (jes!) on tumblr @/minyrds and maybe ??? possibly ??? request a one shot or something wild like that if you so desire?


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